


what haunts you in the middle of the night

by softambrollins



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Psychological Horror, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 19:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: I know what it's like to be abandoned by those you care about most.Seth has a lot of nightmares now. Most of them are of Dean leaving him.And there's no relief in waking. Because he's still gone.





	what haunts you in the middle of the night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I just like emotionally torturing Seth. It's a problem. And The Fiend is pretty much giving me everything I want right now.
> 
> I listened to [Daylight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9raS7-NisU) and [Happiness is a butterfly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69m34vsjjsU) while writing this.

Seth has a lot of nightmares now. Most of them are of Dean leaving him.

And there's no relief in waking. Because he's still gone.

*

Sometimes there's a heavy weight pressing down on his chest and he can't breathe or speak or call out for help. (Even if he could, there's no one there to hear.)

Sometimes he's being choked and he wakes up desperately clawing at his own throat. He's sure he can still feel marks there, from fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, pressing down harder and harder into tendons and blood vessels. The phantom bruises don't go away for days.

Sometimes it's the Fiend, leering down at him as he closes his eyes and flinches away and makes himself as small as possible in a corner. Sometimes, it's Dean on top of him in the ring, screaming at him. And it's not an unusual nightmare for him. But it's all different now, the lights are all off, there's no one in the crowd, they're not even in an arena. It's like it's happening in some alternate universe. Some hell dimension. Sometimes Dean's eyes are as black as night.

Sometimes he wakes up screaming all alone in his house. He spends the rest of the night hunched in a corner of his bed, shaking, rocking back and forth, heart pounding in his chest, alert and fully awake, expecting to be attacked at any moment.

He's not sure what's real or what he's imagining anymore. It's all the same, it all blends together in his mind. It's like he's walking through an endless waking nightmare.

He's terrified of even shutting his eyes. But opening them is almost worse.

*

He's in the locker room before a show, feeling like he's about to pass out at any moment. He's probably more tired than he's ever been in his life, but he's too on edge to sleep. This isn't healthy, he knows. But he doesn't have a choice. So, best to keep moving. Keep active. Working out, travelling, wrestling, moving forward. Not thinking about it. Chugging enough coffee to probably make his heart explode. It's probably better than the alternative.

"Jesus Christ, you look fucking terrible," Roman tells him, sounding actually concerned.

He didn't even notice him come in.

He just makes a grunt of agreement.

"You're not even talking now? God, something must be really wrong."

He's too exhausted to even try to argue.

"I'm handling it," he says, voice hoarse, knowing how unconvincing he sounds.

"Handling what exactly?" Roman says, sitting down across from him. "This whole Wyatt thing? Because no offense, man, but it doesn't look like you are from where I'm standing."

"Roman, I'm fine. I'll get through it. He'll get bored eventually and find someone new to torture. I just have to survive it." He's been repeating the same thing to himself for days, like a new mantra.

Roman looks skeptical to say the least. "Yeah, and at what cost? Your health? Your fucking sanity? I don't know if that's a fair trade-off."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" he says, frustrated.

"I don't know. Maybe… Get help," Roman says, tone soft and careful. 

Seth shakes his head immediately, looking him right in the eye for the first time. "No, that's not — That's not an option. Not for me."

"Why not, man? Do you wanna go fucking crazy?"

Seth laughs mirthlessly. "Maybe I already am. Maybe I have been since — since 'Mania. Since...you know."

Seth can't remember the last time he said his name out loud. To Roman. To anyone. When someone haunts your dreams on a regular basis, maybe it's best to not invoke them of your own volition. 

Roman looks like something's just clicked for him.

"Is _that_ what this is about?" he asks, eyes narrowed, surprised.

"I — I don't know. It's just — _everything_."

"Seth, if you need help but you're too proud to ask, then I'm gonna kick your dumb ass myself."

"That's not it," Seth says, teeth clenched, face twisted into a grimace. "I'm not gonna let you get involved in this. Not for me. If you got hurt, and it was on me, then I don't know if I'd be able to survive that."

"Seth —"

"No, don't argue," Seth tells him imploringly. "Don't — I need you to stay far away from this. Okay? _Please._ For me?"

Maybe a couple years ago, he'd be too stubborn to agree to that. But after everything that's happened and because of the way Seth's looking at him, the urgency in his words, it seems to be enough for him now.

"Okay. I hope you know what the hell you're doing, man."

"Yeah, me too."

*

Seth doesn't have a plan. He probably should have a plan.

He should go to a doctor. He should go to a fucking exorcist.

He's not sure the demons he should be worried about are the _real_ type, though.

He has to face the Fiend in two weeks and he can't sleep.

He listens to really loud music that just makes his headache worse but at least it dulls the barrage of intrusive thoughts in his mind, he trains harder than he ever has, he ingests inhuman quantities of caffeine, he takes cold showers to keep himself awake, he takes long drives into the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, he gets out and treks out into huge, open fields and yells at the sky, at God, at the universe, he doesn't know. No one's listening anyway. He drives back home, and he doesn't sleep, but it's almost like he's dreaming while he's awake. It's like he's stranded somewhere in the middle, in a constant purgatory between sleeping and waking.

*

He's in a maze of mirrors, and around every corner, he sees different versions of himself. 

His despicable sneer from years ago, a flimsy veneer for his insecurity and cowardice and profound unhappiness, taunting him. He hates everything about the person he was. He can't stand to look at him. He walks past him.

The Seth that Dean left in his wake on cold concrete, that had to pull himself up off the floor when he didn't want to, when he had no reason to go on. Lost and hopeless and alone. Eyes wide and hollow and despairing like an abandoned child. He leaves him behind.

Himself at ten years old, happy, innocent, wanting to be like his heroes more than anything, not yet knowing the price he'd have to pay. This small, child version of himself looks directly at him, opens his mouth and says in an almost disgusted tone, _Look at what we've become. Look at what you did to us._ Seth stares stricken for a moment before pushing past it, feeling like he's going to be sick.

Cowering in the corner with the Fiend's hot breath on his face. Too scared to move or to scream or to breathe. The memory is so close, it feels like it could suffocate him. He forces the fear and the shame down and keeps walking.

And a different one — happy, smiling, so overjoyed that it almost feels wrong. He can't remember the last time he was so happy, can't remember what that felt like. It almost looks like a stranger now.

He remembers that day, it was the day he got his brothers back. He'd never been so happy, he didn't think he'd ever stop smiling.

He watches as his own face contorts and warps and changes into a clown mask with a deranged smile sliced across the mouth. 

He screams and punches the mirror, as hard as he can, feeling the force radiate up his arm with a disturbing _crack_.

He punches it again, the mirror shattering outwards like a spider's web, splinters buried into his knuckles, his own blood streaking the pane in front of him.

He slams his fist into the glass one more time, and on impact, he jerks awake with a sharp gasp.

His breathing's erratic. He takes a moment to collect himself, reduce his heart rate back to normal. He looks down at his hands, expecting to find a bloody mess, but they're perfectly fine. He utters a loud swear into the emptiness of his living room.

Somehow he'd nodded off in front of the TV. He turns it off, it hurts his eyes. His body probably just went into autopilot out of need, he doesn't think he can keep doing this for much longer.

He gets up, stretches, every part of his body is sore from his head down, and he goes into the kitchen and puts on another pot of coffee.

*

A week before the match, he hears a car pull up outside his house. When he looks out the window, he's sure he's seeing things. Maybe he's dreaming, maybe he fell asleep by some miracle or from the sheer exhaustion, and his subconscious somehow manifested something that's not a horrifying dreamscape full of monsters and chaos and destruction, but something good. Something he's never dreamt before because he never dared to hope.

He's still staring at the car when there's a knock on the door.

It takes a while for him to move and reach the door and actually open it.

Seth looks at him for a long moment, half expecting him to either disappear or to turn into some demonic creature. 

When neither of those things happen, he just says, "You can't be here."

Dean smirks at him. "Thanks for the warm welcome. Nice to see you too."

"No, I mean it. You need to go," he says abruptly.

"Roman told me I should check on you," Dean says casually, obviously ignoring everything he's saying.

Seth scoffs. "Of course he did."

"He's worried. He only gets worried when there's something to worry about," Dean says, exchanging a knowing look with him and Seth realises there's no getting rid of him now.

Seth just leaves the door open without actually inviting him in and wanders off into the kitchen, looking for where he put his phone. His head's been so out of whack lately, he wouldn't be surprised if he found it in the freezer. Again. He hears the door close with a small click a moment later and then Dean's there, in his space, exactly where he should not be. 

Seth finally spots his phone on the counter and grabs it, sends Roman a quick text: _what the hell did you do?_

A reply comes less than a minute later: _You asked me to stay out of it. You didn't say anything about Dean._

_God fucking damn it._ He really hates them sometimes. 

Seth finally looks back up at him. Dean just regards him with a complicated look on his face he can't even begin to decipher.

"How's the elbow?" he asks eventually, because when in doubt, there's always small talk. He'd texted him when the news came out to say how sorry he was to hear about it and to wish him a speedy recovery, but he hadn't heard much back after that. He'd assumed Dean was dealing with a lot, and he knew him taking care of himself was the most important thing, so he hadn't bothered him after that. But now here he is anyway. For Seth. And he feels like a complete fucking asshole, even though he didn't ask him to come in the first place. Because Dean really doesn't need to deal with Seth's shit on top of everything else he's already going through. 

"Healing," Dean says simply.

He shakes his head like he's trying to shake Dean away, like he still thinks he's a figment of his imagination. "You shouldn't be here," he says again, firmer this time. "You didn't even call to say you were coming. Why would you just show up here out of the blue?"

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Dean says, looking genuinely concerned now, and almost scared...for him.

Seth laughs slightly hysterically. "Oh, didn't you hear? I've finally lost my fucking shit. I guess it had to happen sooner or later."

"I thought I was the crazy one," Dean says dryly. "It doesn't suit you, man, trust me."

"I — I don't. I don't know what to do anymore," he says, hating how helpless he sounds. Especially in front of Dean.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dean asks seriously. 

And that almost makes him laugh for real, because you know shit is completely fucked when Dean Ambrose is the one offering to talk about feelings. He supposes it's a testament to their relationship and how far they've come together over the years. Two years ago they'd both rather be tortured with barbed wire than willingly talk about their feelings.

"It's a fucking horror movie shit-show, man," he tells him. "It's like something just happens when he's near. Like I see things. Things I'm afraid of. Things that have happened. Things that I've done." 

It feels slighty absurd to be discussing the psychological effects of a demented clown in his brightly lit kitchen in a small farming town in the Midwest. But that's just his life now, he supposes. 

"Like what?" Dean asks after a moment to take that in. 

"Like you," he exhales. Because if they're gonna talk about this, they might as well go all in. Pun somewhat intended. 

He expects Dean to be at least a bit disconcerted by that, but he just seems to roll with it. 

"Oh, and which category do I fit in?" Dean says, with a raised eyebrow. "Things you're afraid of, or things that you've done?"

"Shut up," Seth says, rolling his eyes. 

"Hey, just trying to lighten the mood. You look genuinely freaked out, man. I've never seen you like this." 

It's actually helping though. Dean's nonchalant attitude to all of this. Dean's not afraid of anything and he'd be lying if he said he didn't draw his own courage from that from time to time. But this is a whole different ball game.

"Well, that was on purpose," Seth admits. He tried to put on that brave face for the cameras for as long as he could this time, but it's become impossible.

"You never could hide anything from me," Dean tells him honestly. "I always knew when you were scared. But this is different."

"I thought not believing in anything made me safe from everything, you know. Safe from heartbreak. Safe from consequences. Safe from perdition."

"You think you're going to hell?" Dean asks, eyes widening, like he's somewhere in between surprised and amused.

Seth shrugs. "I don't know. But if there is a hell, I seem like a pretty good candidate. On paper."

Dean just frowns at that for a second. "If self-pity is a sin, then sure."

"Is this another one of your ways to lighten the mood?" Seth asks bitterly.

"No, you're just being an idiot. So you've done some shitty things. So what? Everyone's done shitty things. That's not you anymore. Everyone knows that." It sounds simple when he says it like that, but it isn't remotely that easy.

"Sometimes it feels like I'll never escape it. No matter what I do. No matter how much time passes. It's like a black mark on my soul that I can never wash away. I thought owning my past was the way to get over it, but maybe it's still just dragging me down." Into the dirt. Into the pit.

"The world's moved on, man," Dean says, almost apologetic. "Maybe it's time for you to move on too."

"Like you did?" Seth asks bluntly, glancing up at him.

"Oh, _that's_ what you meant," Dean says, like it's only just dawned on him. 

"You broke my heart," Seth tells him, almost matter-of-factly, a rueful smile on his face. "And then you just left. And I thought you just needed time. But now you're not coming back. And I don't think I've come to terms with that. Maybe I never will." 

Dean wants to talk, so there. That's it. All of it. Out in the open. Finally. 

"What do you want from me?" Dean asks, his voice tired, defeated.

"I don't want anything from you. You're the one who came here," Seth points out.

"Yeah, to make sure you don't die from sleep deprivation. Or from a fucking heart attack," Dean argues.

"Dean, I'm fine," he says, clipped. "I don't need you here, so feel free to leave whenever you want." He can feel himself withdrawing, all the soft, vulnerable parts being locked up behind closed doors again. All of this has been too much all at once. He's already been a complete emotional wreck for weeks, months even, and this makes him feel like he's about to shatter into pieces all over his kitchen floor like the mirror shattered in his dream.

He quietly goes upstairs, locks the door behind him, paces up and down to burn off the adrenaline, definitely does not scream into a pillow before curling up into a ball and resolutely _not_ falling asleep. 

*

He finds Dean lying on the couch absently watching a football game on mute when he comes downstairs a few hours later. 

"God, I can't even watch TV anymore. It just looks like static." Trying to play videogames was like setting his retinas on fire. He wonders how much permanent damage all of this is doing to his body.

Dean turns the TV off. And sits up to look at him intently. His expression clearly saying, _Are you ready to stop bullshitting and talk to me for real now?_

Seth sits down next to him with a heavy sigh. And that's an answer in itself.

He feels his head slowly fall onto Dean's shoulder, like he physically can't hold it up, and he's just too tired to pretend anymore. Dean's here, and he's not leaving, and Seth has to admit he can't do this on his own anymore. Maybe Dean understands more than he first realised. 

Dean puts his good arm around Seth's shoulders, lets him tuck himself against his side. Dean's soft but firm at the same time, he smells like _home_ the way he always does. It's the most safe he's felt in a long, long time. He could almost cry from relief.

He takes a deep breath before speaking. "You never really talked about it. What happened after Roman left."

"I don't know," Dean says, voice rough and scratchy. "It just felt like this heavy shroud of dread and despair suddenly falling over me. Like I'd kept it at bay for years and I just _couldn't_ anymore."

"What did it feel like?" Seth asks quietly, eyes tracing over his face.

"Dark. Lonely. But not the normal kind. The kind where it's like you're the only person on earth. Everyone's so far away. And it's unbearable, but you also don't want them to get infected by what you have. So you retreat further into the darkness, thinking it's gonna keep you safe."

"That's what my dreams are like," Seth confesses.

"I'm sorry you're going through this," Dean tells him gently. "I know how hopeless it can feel."

"The fucked-up part is I think I deserve it."

Dean looks across at him for second, and then nods. "l thought that too sometimes. Until I realised it wasn't helping anyone. I was just suffering for no fucking reason at all. And making you suffer too. And it just made me feel even worse in the end."

"Did forgiving you help?" 

"Yeah. Even if I didn't think I deserved it."

"Did you forgive yourself?" 

"Working on it," Dean says with a shrug. "What about you? What do you need from me?" 

"I think I just need to know...why," Seth murmurs.

It's been a recurring dream over the last few weeks, it's been hard to get it out of his head: Dean walking away. And the Fiend saying _It's your fault._ A shadowy figure that could be the devil saying _It's your fault._ His own face, a twisted, corrupted mirror image, saying _It's your fault._

"I don't…_belong_ there anymore," Dean says simply. "I don't think I did for a long time. I was just holding on for you and Roman. Until I couldn't anymore."

"And we weren't enough," Seth says, throat tightening all of a sudden. "To make you stay." 

"Seth, that's not it. You know I fucking love you guys. And I always will. It just came to a point where I had to take care of myself first before I just went fucking insane."

"Maybe it is my fault," Seth says, his voice small. "For not seeing how fucking miserable you were. Because I didn't want to. I didn't want to lose you again."

"Seth, it's not your fault," Dean assures him. "None of this is your fault. So if that's what you're holding on to, you need to let it go. Otherwise it'll do your fucking head in, man."

Seth nods, trying to make himself believe that. "Are you happy?" he asks, because he has to know that too. And because as terrible as it is, sometimes he dreams of Dean being so, so happy without him, and it's almost worse than everything else.

"Yeah, I think so. It's been good. Except for this little setback that I didn't expect," he says, lifting his right elbow slightly. "But when that's all good again, I'm not gonna let anything stop me."

Dean's different now too. It's like he's determined to be happy, to live his best life, whatever that is, no matter the cost. And there's something admirable about that. Saying _fuck you_ to everyone who wants to doubt you or tells you no. Seth's always struggled with that, at choosing his own happiness above everything else, above success and power and influence and what people think of him. 

"I'm glad. That you're happy," he says and means it now with every fibre of his being.

"What about you?" Dean asks tentatively.

"Sometimes I am. When I don't stop to think about it too much. I should be, right? I have everything I ever wanted. But sometimes it just feels so damn empty." He doesn't even know why sometimes. He just gets angry and upset about the stupidest things. Maybe he's just been going and going for so long that he hasn't had the chance to really stop and appreciate all of it.

"You need to stop thinking so much, man. About if you deserve it or not. About what people are saying. About that freak in a cheap Halloween mask. About...me."

Seth wishes he could more than anything. Wishes he could really find his place and just belong, somewhere all on his own, without all the external noise and internal doubts.

"I remember you being pretty freaked out by that hologram," he says, a slight smile playing around his lips.

"Well, that thing was fucking creepy. You would've been freaked out too."

Seth laughs and Dean joins in a second later and he has no idea how they got here but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

"It's all just smoke and mirrors, man," Dean says. "All just bullshit. You can't control that. You can only control how you deal with it."

Maybe he's known it all along but just didn't want to admit it to himself. It's not the Fiend he's been scared of. It's looking himself in the face.

Dean rests a gentle hand on top of his head now. "You're stronger than him. Don't let him win."

"He won last time," Seth tells him. "He beat you too."

"Yeah, that's true. But I wasn't here last time. You were alone, like I was alone. You're not alone anymore," Dean tells him, voice low and certain.

"You mean that?" Seth says, looking up at him.

"Yeah," Dean says with a nod. "Kick it in the ass."

They stay there for a while longer in silence and eventually, Dean gets up and takes him by the hand and leads up upstairs and gently drags him into bed with him.

Seth rests his head on Dean's chest, Dean's fingers slowly stroking over his hair. He stares up into Dean's blue eyes for a long time like he's staring at the ocean, and Dean just looks back at him. In the silence, he listens to his steady breathing, feels his heartbeat against his cheek, the warmth of his skin, the smell and feel of him like a familiar blanket being wrapped around him. It all surrounds him and gently lulls him into a state of perfect calm and quiet. Nothing can find them here.

Seth closes his eyes and finally goes to sleep.

In Dean's arms, he dreams of nothing at all.

*

Dean leaves the next morning. He has rehab and training and he has a big challenge of his own coming up to get ready for.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks before he leaves.

Seth nods. "I've already been through the worst thing that could happen. So this shouldn't be too hard."

The Fiend can't do anything to him he hasn't done to himself a thousand times over. Guilt, fear, self-loathing, betrayal, abandonment, loneliness. He's felt all of it. He's been torturing himself for years and years. The things he's seen in the mirror are so much worse than any horrors the devil himself can conjure. And he's overcome all of it. Bray can take everything he wants to take away from him, but he can't take away that, the man underneath it all, the person he's become because of everything he's been through. 

He used to think that emotions were weakness. That he had to cast them aside to be who he was meant to be. But he was wrong. He's been fighting just to keep what he has for months and months. But now it's different. He's not just fighting for his title, his spot. He's fighting for something real. For the things he gave up once and now wants to hold on to more than anything. Himself, his soul, the people he loves. And he's not alone. Not anymore. He's stronger than he's ever been.

*

He's not cowering anymore. His eyes are wide open, clearer than they've been in a long time. He's awake and he knows this is real. It should be scarier but the monsters can't get him here. Not unless he lets them.

He looks him right in the eye.

"You think you can break me? Well, I've been broken a million times. In ways you can't even begin to imagine. And I'm still here. So take your best shot, you son of a bitch."

He swears he almost feels the Fiend hesitate for a second.

And then it starts.


End file.
